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Let's Wait Until the Morning After
May. 7th, 2014 06:15 pmPeter was groggy as his eyelashes fluttered, but it was in that nice, warm way of early afternoon sunlight, languid bodies and skin on skin. Last night was hazy, but more in that pleasant glimpses and memories than blackout drunk, which had never really been Peter's style. He liked a pleasant buzz, the light feeling of being truly drunk, laughter and wandering hands. He was still belatedly amazed that he'd actually let Lydia and Roman talk him into a suit of all fucking things, but united, they were all but impossible to refuse. His eyelashes fluttered, a low groan of protest at the sunlight, rather wanting to just stay here like this, not lose the magic of the moment that he hadn't entirely grasped. So he leaned into Roman's shoulder, trying to hide from the light.
There was something tickling at the back of his mind, too much warmth, too much touch of hands and the scent on the air. Finally he looked around, a bleary flutter of blue eyes only to be confronted with a tangle of arms and limbs and red hair that could only belong to one Lydia Martin. The memories of it filtered back, a low murmur and a huff of amusement. This was... different. Not bad, but different. Her skin warm and soft against his own and he couldn't keep his fingers from crawling up to curl in her hair, as if seeing just how far boundaries had been pushed.
Was this one of those things where everyone dashed for their clothes and no one talked about it? He was hoping not. He liked her, in his own way. Assertive and smart, the sort of girl that Peter really didn't know how to deal with and honestly that was part of her charm. She hadn't forced herself between them, she was just something that happened. Because it felt good, having her here. He just hoped he wasn't the only one that felt that way.
"Morning," he drawled, voice low and deep with sleep, even as the clock insisted that morning had very little to do with anything. In their defense, he remembered watching the sunrise, leaning back against Roman and Lydia.
There was something tickling at the back of his mind, too much warmth, too much touch of hands and the scent on the air. Finally he looked around, a bleary flutter of blue eyes only to be confronted with a tangle of arms and limbs and red hair that could only belong to one Lydia Martin. The memories of it filtered back, a low murmur and a huff of amusement. This was... different. Not bad, but different. Her skin warm and soft against his own and he couldn't keep his fingers from crawling up to curl in her hair, as if seeing just how far boundaries had been pushed.
Was this one of those things where everyone dashed for their clothes and no one talked about it? He was hoping not. He liked her, in his own way. Assertive and smart, the sort of girl that Peter really didn't know how to deal with and honestly that was part of her charm. She hadn't forced herself between them, she was just something that happened. Because it felt good, having her here. He just hoped he wasn't the only one that felt that way.
"Morning," he drawled, voice low and deep with sleep, even as the clock insisted that morning had very little to do with anything. In their defense, he remembered watching the sunrise, leaning back against Roman and Lydia.
